Surrender to Me
by mttnkttn
Summary: Stan will never let go of Kyle, even if it kills them.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I don't own South Park.

A/N: Because there aren't many stories that portray Stan in this way, I felt compelled to write this. This is just the prologue, so it's a bit short. Subsequent chapters will be longer, I promise!

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There was a point in time when being around Stan was my top priority. Having a best friend is like that. We were always so excited to do everything together. I think that's what I miss the most about Stan. Always having someone to rely on, no matter how shitty life became; it was a great feeling.

I think back to those times: memories filled with nighttime talks underneath star-lit skies at Stark's Pond; endless hours spent playing video games in his bedroom; teaming up with Kenny to pull pranks on Cartman when he was being an asshole. We wasted so much time doing all of these simple, pointless things… but I was happy because I was doing them with Stan.

When did we stop doing those things?

I guess it happened around the same time that Stan changed. It was a very subtle change. A change that someone would only notice if they were close enough.

He became more introverted. More secretive. His words became sparse, and when he did contribute to the conversation, there always seemed to be some hidden dual meaning.

At first I just ignored this. I had convinced myself that he was probably just going through a phase. That everything would go back to normal.

But this new Stan… I had no idea how to cope with him. Acting like my usual self only served to drive him farther away. Unfortunately, I only noticed this after the damage had become irreparable. At that point, our only form of communication were very inconsistent text messages, sent to each other out of obligation and politeness.

So it was strange when I received a text from Stan one night.

_Soon._

I stared at the screen of my phone. This simple message seemed to hold so much meaning. If only I had known what he meant…


	2. Chapter 1

I never responded to Stan's message.

I agonized for hours over what to say to him, how to approach this guy. Everything I wanted to say to him, to ask him… I couldn't bring myself to say those words…. I was too anxious. Too afraid to say anything that may scare him away again. I didn't want to miss out on the chance to regain his friendship by responding to him too eagerly and being clingy.

So I said nothing.

Perhaps if I had responded back then, if I had just asked for the meaning behind his message, then maybe things would have turned out differently today…. But who really knows. I was so lonely back then that even if I had heard the real reason for sending me that message, I probably still would have been just as ecstatic… Because it was from Stan. The best friend I had missed so much.

It's not like I was a loner in those days. Sure, I had a few friends, and even had a few girlfriends, but there was something about the deep bond I had developed with Stan that made it impossible for me to become close to other people. A part of him lingered on in my heart, refusing to leave me, even after he had left.

To say I was pining over him… At the time I would have fought that accusation, but if I were being honest to myself, that was exactly what I was doing. Pining for the day I would see him again.

And, almost a week after receiving his text message, I finally saw him.

I was returning to South Park, on break from my university classes. That semester had been a particularly hard one, although it probably would have gone a lot smoother had I actually attempted to study for my exams. But I just couldn't bring myself to exert any more energy in school. My attitude toward everything was languid at the time. I had no real dreams or aspirations. I didn't even know why I was bothering with school.

My mother greeted me at the front door like usual. She questioned me about my finals, about my health, about my plans for the summer, my future. Her constant pestering. I will never be immune to it. Ike, who was standing to my side, seemed to sense my agitation. His gaze met mine, and he nodded curtly. He steered her attention toward him, long enough for me to make my escape.

She called after me as I ran down the street. I knew she was going to be pissed when I returned home later on, but I couldn't handle her at that moment. I just needed to run away. I didn't care about the repercussions of my actions.

Once I was out of her line of sight, I stopped. My breaths were labored pants. My heart thumping loudly against my ribs. I closed my eyes, focusing on steadying my breathing.

That was when I heard his voice behind me. It had been so long ago since I had listened to him speak. I almost didn't believe that it was actually Stan.

"Kyle, you're supposed to respond when someone texts you."

I looked over my shoulder. He was leaning against the lamppost, his arms crossed, a smirk on his lips. I lifted my eyes to meet his, and something about them drew me in. I was getting lost, falling deeper and deeper. They were hypnotic, mesmerizing. They were familiar, and yet they were foreign. They felt so safe but so dangerous. They were Stan, but at the same time, they were someone else. It was unnerving. This anomalous look in his eyes.

"Stan?" My voice was barely above a whisper. This was the most we had said to each other in years, yet I couldn't even bring myself to speak audibly, or even say anything at all. All those words I had planned to say to him, my lips refused to utter them.

Before I could berate myself, Stan began to walked toward me. His eyes were still locked on mine. My heart was pounding so loudly in my ears. I couldn't even hear his footsteps or the roar of the car engines that drove past us. Maintaining this eye contact. I didn't know how much more I could take. But I wanted more. Needed more.

He stopped in front of me. Closer than he would usually stand. A lot closer. Close enough for our breaths to clash together, for our noses to touch.

I looked down and tried to back away, unable to endure his presence any longer. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. My chest was tight, my heart felt like it was about to burst, and my stomach felt fluttery. I needed to escape. I needed reprieve from these intense emotions that he was inciting in my body. But his hands grabbed my shoulders tightly, forcing me to stay in my spot. When my eyes reconnected with his, he smiled down at me and touched his palm to my cheek.

"Don't try to run away, Kyle. I will never let you leave me."

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A/N: This story completely deviated from my original plan, but I guess this is the direction the characters want me to go. Thank you everyone for the kind words and encouragement! Because of you, I actually felt very motivated to write this chapter as quickly as possible. I hope you all enjoy it.


	3. Chapter 2

I should've run away at that moment.

I should've shoved him aside. I should've escaped from his grasp. From the feeling of his palm against my cheek. From those eyes that were suffocating me, challenging me to leave him. If I had left….

But I didn't. I just stayed. Frozen in my spot. Unable to even blink as my mind tried to process what he had said to me.

I couldn't force myself to run away. Not this time. Not from Stan.

I was confused as hell, afraid of Stan's strange behavior. The way he was holding me wasn't like the Stan I knew. His touches offered little comfort whereas in the past those same touches had always reassured me. The smile on his face was wrong. His lips were stretched too thin, spread far too wide to be considered genuine. But what scared me the most were those eyes. They still haunt me to this day. Looking into those eyes, the nothingness that lurked beyond those blue irises. He looked like he had been suffering some secret torment for years, unable to defend himself against whatever demon had inflicted those devastating wounds. And he was looking at me in such desperation, like whatever resolve to continue living that had remained intact all this time would finally dissipate if I were to reject him in that moment.

My heart clenched at this sight. My former best friend. The guy who was so carefree and full of life… what had happened to him?

Tears were welling in my eyes. I forced myself to look away, instead focusing on his chest. I couldn't bear it any longer. I lifted my trembling hands and clenched my fists around the fabric of his shirt. I forced my throat to swallow.

"Stan."

That was all I could say to him, all I could manage to force from underneath the lump in my throat, but I guess for Stan it had been enough. His hand on my shoulder wrapped around my back and his hand on my cheek clutched the back of my head as he brought me into his chest.

"Just stay with me like this, Kyle. This is all I will ever need." He whispered these words into the curve of my neck, his breath hitting my skin in heated wisps. The intense feeling of desire emanating from him almost caused my knees to buckle.

I pressed into him, circling my arms around his waist. I needed to be closer, but no matter how tightly I hugged myself against him, he still felt so far away. I felt even farther from him than I had before, even though he hadn't been this physically close to me in years.

I'm not sure when the tears began rolling down my cheeks. Stan must've noticed though because he pulled away from me slightly and took my face into his hands. He rubbed the tears away with his thumbs. His strokes were gentle, careful. Like he was afraid that I was going to break, or maybe he was afraid that I was going to run away from him. That he needed to treat me delicately so I wouldn't be scared away like I were his frightened prey.

And I touched his wrists just as delicately, because I was just as worried that he may run away from me.

"Soon, Kyle," he licked his bottom lip.

His eyes closed and a small sigh left his lips. He retracted his hands from my cheeks, brushing his fingers against my skin like he was regretting the action. I tightened my grip on his wrist, already mourning the loss of his touch, but he shook his head at me slightly.

"Soon."

I released his wrist. My hand fell limply to my side as he turned away from me. His hands burrowed into the pockets of his jeans and he walked down the street, not once even glancing back at me from over his shoulder.

I watched him walk farther and farther away from me until his figure finally disappeared around the corner of a building. I wanted to follow him, but Stan had made it clear to me that he didn't want that. At least not then. But soon...

_Soon._

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A/N: I am on a roll. I have never updated so quickly in my life. The chapters are shorter than I would have preferred, and this story is progressing a little slower than I had anticipated, but perhaps it is necessary. Thank you everyone for the encouragement. You are all awesome!


	4. Chapter 3

I remained in that spot, unable to tear my eyes away from the direction I had watched Stan's retreating back. He had left me behind. Again. But, despite that revelation, I still wanted to follow after him.

I should have been angry at him for randomly appearing back into my life so suddenly and then disappearing again just as abruptly, only staying long enough for me to question if he had even been there at all. But instead of anger, I felt myself awaiting the moment he would return to me again. Awaiting for whatever time "Soon" meant.

I spent another hour walking around town before I eventually managed to gather the courage to face my mother. Just as I had anticipated, she was furious. Beyond furious actually. Her boisterous voice boomed in my ears the second I had opened the front door, threatening to compromise the integrity of my eardrums. Her eyes were darkened with frenzied anger, half-hidden beneath the dangerous slant of her eyebrows.

I would be a fool if I said that she wasn't an intimidating woman.

She lectured me fervently. So stubborn was she to show me the error of my ways that she wouldn't even pause long enough in the midst of her words to breathe. Her face was flushed red, heated from her passionate outburst and from the lack of oxygen circulating in her bloodstream.

I stood in the hallway quietly, my eyes downcast toward the floor. There was no point in trying to defend myself when she was this upset. No point in telling her the things she didn't want to hear. Sure, she would try to listen. Try to understand. But trying to do these things and actually doing them are two very different things.

She seemed to notice my lack of response, and, probably feeling I had suffered enough and perhaps feeling a little bit dizzy too, she ceased her tirade. I heard her take in a sharp breath before slowly expelling the stale air from her lungs. "Kyle, I'm just so worried about you." Her voice had lost it's previous edge, though it was still hoarse from her impassioned discourse.

I looked up from the carpet. Her face had softened. Her tone was comforting, caring, reassuring. But I had detected the thinly veiled disappointment underneath. I bit my bottom lip and averted my eyes to the floor again. I was ashamed that I had put that emotion in her voice. "I know, mother. I'm sorry."

"I'm trying to be more understanding of you, but it's hard sometimes when you continue to act out like this." She wrapped her arms around me, pulling me into the warmth of her body. Her figure was familiar and comforting. But in the motherly sort of way. And, while I appreciated her affections, I found myself craving Stan's arms around me instead. Craving his body heat. Craving the feeling of his heart beating against mine. I had gotten a brief taste. Too brief, in fact. I needed more. I needed my best friend again.

I had momentarily forgotten I was still in my mother's arms until she muttered a soft whisper against my shoulder. So soft that I had barely heard it. "What if you get hurt again?"

My heart tensed, feeling guilty for making her worry about_ that_. I returned her hug hoping to extinguish whatever negative thoughts were roaming around in her mind. "I won't. You don't need to worry about that anymore," I murmured quietly in an effort to console her.

She pulled away from me, placing her hands on my shoulders just like how Stan had done only an hour before. But, while the positioning of their hands were the same, their touches couldn't have been more different from one another. Her hands were placed there for my comfort. His hands were placed there for his.

Her eyes bore into mine. She was searching them for reassurance that my words were honest. That she could believe me this time. But the sullen look on her face told me that she wasn't so sure. And, honestly, I wasn't too sure I could make that promise to her either. "If I wasn't worried about that, then what kind of mother would that make me? You just haven't been the same ever since-"

"I'm going to head up to my room. I'm exhausted from the drive." I slunk out of her hands and made my way to the stairs.

She is my mother. And I love her. But she suffocated me. And I needed air so badly back then.

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A/N: I had more tacked onto this chapter, but I think I'll make it a separate chapter since the content is very different from this scene.

I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. I tried to make Sheila seem human since there are so many stories that make her seem so evil...

Thank you all for the encouragement to continue writing this. To be honest, I am very apprehensive about my writing abilities, but your kind words have inspired me.

Also feel free to critic me. I won't improve unless someone gives me some feedback once in a while.


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